Insomnia and the Developing Infant
by AnthroQueen
Summary: All of that talk about babies and finally, here they are with one. But Jeff Winger and Britta Perry are about to learn that talk is anything but cheap.
1. Months 1 through 6

**Hi! Please excuse this work of mindless fluff. It took me literally all week to write- I started it Sunday night and just finished like five minutes ago- and it ran away from me, because I swear it wasn't supposed to be this long. But when I start writing, I never know when to shut up, so I hope you don't hate it. This basically stemmed from my obsessive desire to have Jeff and Britta as parents. Like they need to have a baby, guys, I don't think you understand. =P**

* * *

Insomnia and the Developing Infant

Months 1-6

Thick, dark clouds are moving in on the sleepy Colorado town, the calm before the storm, as the night drags on, invisible to most who are sleeping soundly in their homes. It's three o'clock in the morning, a time that most people never see, a time that only calls to two kinds of people. The first are the studying (read: partying) college kids who stay awake through all hours, ride the thunder clouds and watch the rain fall outside their dorm room windows and greet the morning with drowsy expressions and the paid programming on TV (which was more economical- the magic bullet or the slap chop?). Ask a college kid what three a.m. looks like and they'll tell you it's quiet, it's lonely, it's a time they associate with being regretfully unused. But ask them if they'll remedy this by going to sleep earlier the next day and nine times out of ten, they will not.

But three a.m. also calls to another kind of people- new parents.

Take for example Jeff Winger and Britta Perry, lying half-asleep beneath the down comforter on the California king bed in their two-bedroom, one-and-a-half bathroom apartment on the fourth floor of a family-friendly complex. Both had the appearances of two people who hadn't slept in weeks; Britta's hair was oily and unwashed, Jeff's face was gruff and unshaven. They had just finally collapsed onto their bed and had managed to slip into the cusps of sleep when, unsurprisingly, a sharp infant's cry pierced the brief silence of their apartment, begging for immediate action and attention. Ten minutes pass and neither parent moves.

Finally, Britta says roughly, "Please get the baby."

"I got the baby last time," Jeff responds. "_You_ get the baby."

"No," Britta whines. "I'm _so_ tired!"

"You say this as if I'm completely well rested," Jeff rolls his eyes, but they're so dry from lack of sleep they almost get stuck. "Newsflash- I haven't gotten more than six hours of sleep in the last two weeks either. Second newsflash- I still got him last time, so it's your turn."

Britta contemplates this. "If you get him this time, I'll-"

"No, we're not doing this," Jeff groans. "You're not going to make me do it. We're also completely uneven; I'm pretty sure I've gotten him the last three times he's cried. It's way beyond time for you to have the experience."

"I can't move. My body literally _hurts_."

"Well you better figure it out. He's just going to get louder."

Finally, Britta glares at him. "_Fine_. If you need… Next time you… I'm not going to."

She slides out of bed ungracefully and Jeff has to chuckle at her previous statement which made absolutely no sense, but then again, that's how tired she is. It was true, what he'd said earlier; in the two, almost two and a half, weeks since their son had been born, neither of them had gotten much sleep- around six hours, collectively. And, given the fact that they were still attending school, their insomnia plus the nonsensical Greendale courses only added pressure to their everyday lives. Luckily for Jeff and Britta, Dean Pelton was completely okay with them bringing their son to school. Unluckily for them, they didn't trust the Child and Family Studies department, so instead of placing their son in the provided daycare facility, they just brought him to their classes, trading halfway through the day.

Yeah. It isn't exactly practical, but they didn't have much to work with.

Needless to say, their son had been a bit of a surprise; when Britta had found out she was pregnant those short-lived nine months ago, their junior year of college had just come to a close mid-May and everyone had parted for the summer. She and Jeff hadn't even been sleeping together again- it had just been a one-time thing after getting _insanely_ wasted at Abed/Troy/Annie's end of the year kegger. Ironically, she found out in early June, so to play up the situation, she wrapped her positive pregnancy test in tissue paper and gave it to Jeff on Father's Day.

Points for creativity, yes?

She had been a _nightmare_ of a pregnant woman- from intense morning sickness to increased sexual drive, from crazy cravings (Jeff nearly vomited as he once watched her down a tomato, pickle, and nutella sandwich… _ugh_) to Braxton-Hicks contractions, and throughout the entire pregnancy, she worried about _every_ little thing. Number one on her list was how completely calm Jeff was being about the entire situation- who _was_ he and where did he stash the real Jeff Winger, the one who feared commitment, the one who was eternally emotionally closed off? She freaked out while Jeff stayed serene until finally, one cold wintry January morning, their son made his way into the world and suddenly, Britta stopped worrying.

And suddenly, Jeff started to.

Jeff and Britta watched three episodes of _A Baby Story_ to prepare themselves for parenthood (which, by the way, is an _awful_ idea; why does TLC stand for The Learning Channel if there's nothing to learn?), but nothing could have prepared them for their son's delivery, which was the shortest and fastest their obstetrician had ever seen. No sooner had her water broken in the shower (best place for that to happen, by the way- no clean up!) than she was suffering from debilitating contractions and, by the time they reached the hospital, the baby's head was so close, she almost gave birth in the lobby. Nurses rushed around trying to admit her and file paperwork while also trying to find an empty delivery room, for a proper birth.

They did find one, but it was irrelevant; Britta gave birth in the hallway.

It was something out of a movie and Jeff had wished Abed had been there so they could share the similarities. It had all happened so fast and it hadn't happened fast enough and when it was all over, there was a baby; a _huge_ baby. The nurse kneeling beside Britta's wheelchair had scrambled to her feet to find the necessary post-birth materials as a squirming pink baby emerged in their doctor's arms, hair and skin slick with amniotic fluid, vernix, and blood, the purple umbilical cord spiraling from his belly button. Jeff, in complete shock and awe, absently took the scissors the nurse handed him and cut where she instructed, watching the spongy material break apart and the other nurse on hand tie off the cord's splintering end. And then, finally, the entire hospital wing was filled with the fresh shrill sound of a newborn's cry.

And then, that's when Jeff started to panic.

They wheeled Britta into recovery and the baby into the nursery to be bathed, examined, and weighed while the custodial staff was called to clean the mess left behind. Jeff began to follow Britta and the swarm of nurses around her, but then, on second thought, turned and followed the wheeling isolette into the nursery instead. He wasn't allowed in, but he stood outside and peered through the Plexiglas as his son- _his son_- was measured, weighed, fingerprinted, and swaddled like a tiny hot dog. He wonders if his own father stood in this spot and stared at him like this; he wonders if William Winger worried about all of the horrible things this world had in store for his son and wonders if he felt an undeniable urge to protect him just like Jeff was feeling right then.

He hoped not, because honestly, he wanted to have _nothing_ in common with his father.

"Okay, he _did_ need me," Britta gives in, entering the room with their son and snapping Jeff out of his thoughtful reverie. "Turns out the little guy's hungry. Not really something you can help with, I'm afraid."

Gesturing towards her chest, he says, "Unless you've figured out how to make them portable, this one's all on you."

She smirks and settles on the bed again gently, propped up by pillows, their son nestled in her arms. Britta watches him drink for a little while, his tiny blue eyes transfixed on her, before snuggling down into the bed, her eyes closing. "I'm _so_ tired! Why didn't we take this into consideration all of those times we were talking about kids? This is crazy…"

"I don't know," Jeff answers gruffly. "On Monday I sat through twenty-five minutes of my criminal law class only to realize halfway through that it was cosmetology. I have _no_ idea how that happened."

"Tell me about it," Britta sighs. "Yesterday I couldn't remember the difference between the ego and the superego on my psych exam, so I just drew a picture of an ego with a cape."

"This afternoon I tried to charm my way into getting chicken fingers at lunch with that one lady who always falls for it," Jeff admits. "And it turned out to be the ficus outside of the botany lab."

At this, Britta laughs so hard she begins to tear up. "Oh my God, Annie told me you were talking to a tree. She was worried about you."

"_I'm_ worried about me- worried about _us_," He corrects. "What happened to us? And why did we have to get the one kid who never sleeps?"

"Because he's a combination of you and me," Britta tells him. "Did you expect anything less?"

Jeff contemplates this, and then yawns. "Oh Grant, you're going to be the death of me."

At this, they both turn to look at their little Grant Alexander Winger, who has already finished his midnight snack and has finally fallen asleep. His tiny, blonde eyelashes rest upon the milky white skin of his chubby cheeks, his mouth as tiny and pink as a raspberry, and his nose as fresh and as round as a button. His eyelids flutter, suggesting he's fast asleep and dreaming of something rich and beautiful and his tiny, long fingers are curling and uncurling softly. His breathing is even and low, his tiny chest rising and falling rhythmically as his parents watch proudly and still undoubtedly amazed that, after all of that mindless chatter about potential children, they had actually created one.

And it's with this blissful thought that the new parents finally fall asleep.

* * *

One unseasonably warm morning in March, the two are getting ready for their day- Britta's brushing her teeth in their adjoining bathroom with Jeff in the other room with Grant- when, out of nowhere, chaos ensues. One moment she's spitting toothpaste in the sink, the next she's racing to her son's bedroom, where Jeff is continuously shouting, "What did I do? What did I do?" She's panicking because he is, even though she doesn't know what's going on. Their son is lying in only a diaper on the changing table, but he looks completely unharmed, almost placid. And then she sees the dried up stub of the umbilical cord lying beside him, a few splotches of blood on his stomach, and sighs with relief.

Her heart still racing, she smacks Jeff on the arm. "Don't scare me like that again."

"I didn't do it!" He's still shrieking. "All I did was take off his pajamas! And then I unsnapped the onesie and that thing fell off and there was blood everywhere and _I didn't do it!_"

Britta chuckles, removing a baby wipe from the plastic receptacle beside her son's head and gently wiping the blood off of his tiny stomach. "Would you relax? It's about time this fell off. It's been almost a month, now."

"Wait," Jeff pauses. "That's what's _supposed_ to happen?"

She rolls her eyes. "Well do you have an umbilical stem, still?"

He sends her a mock glare. "Well whatever. I saw blood and I had a heart attack. Put yourself in my shoes and tell me you wouldn't have reacted the same way."

"No, I definitely would have," Britta tells him honestly. "And I would have scared the living shit out of you, too, just like you did with me."

"Good to know," He yawns and then continues to dress their son once Britta's successfully changed his diaper. "It didn't hurt him, did it?"

"I don't think so," She answers, observing her son closely as Jeff slips the onesie back on and then covers it with a long-sleeved shirt and the tiniest pair of jeans she's ever seen. "He didn't cry over it, so…"

"Unbelievable. The kid cries about everything and then this draws blood and he's completely chill," Jeff shakes his head disbelievingly, glancing down at his son. "You make no sense, Grant, do you know that?"

He hiccups and yawns and Britta yawns in response. "Oh, you're tired too? It's not just us?"

"Maybe he'll learn and sleep more so _we_ can sleep more," Jeff says, lifting Grant into his arms. "Or maybe I can bribe Pierce into watching him so I can actually get some work done today. Pierce doesn't pay attention in his classes anyway."

"Of all the people we know," Britta asks skeptically. "You're going to trust _Pierce_?"

"Yeah. Good point."

They finish readying themselves, buckle Grant into his infant seat, and leave the apartment for Greendale, pausing in the parking lot to wave hello, begrudgingly, to their neighbors, who've also just had a baby- a little girl who sleeps through the night. Lucky bitches. Anyway, Jeff keeps the window open so the cool air will keep him awake and Britta watches him like a hawk to make sure he doesn't fall asleep at the wheel and kill them all. They're already late to school, but with the demise of Hot & Brown, their stop at Starbucks was a necessity. No, really.

When they finally trudge into the study room, everyone is already there, talking animatedly about the day's events and completely well-rested unlike Jeff and Britta, who come in bearing two large coffees and a restless infant. Abed and Troy are bent over the former's laptop screen, editing scenes they shot in their apartment for Abed's web series as Pierce tries to see over Troy's shoulder, trying to get in on the action. Annie and Shirley are laughing about something Jeff and Britta can't figure out, and when they enter the room, both of them brighten even further.

Annie squeals excitedly, motioning for the infant carrier. "Ooh, my Grant's here! Hand him over!"

Jeff does so gladly as he and Britta slump into their seats and simultaneously down a pretty good portion of their coffees. Shirley grins a bit mischievously. "I told you this job was more work than you expected! You both thought you could handle it, no problem."

Jeff steals a glance at Britta, his face disbelieving. "Um, we _can_ handle it, thank you very much."

"Yeah, we're going to be the best parents ever," Britta states adamantly. "I just need to finish this coffee, first."

"Guys," Annie starts, a warning. "Please don't make parenthood a competition, too."

They shrug in that way that tells Annie they already have.

* * *

"Look, this has gone on for _way_ too long. You're doing this. Let's go."

"But it's _your_ job!"

"It can't be my job! I can't be in charge of feeding _and_ changing him! And since you can't possibly feed him, this one has to be on you."

"I don't know how. I'll probably break him."

"You won't break him and how do you not know how? He's almost three months old! You haven't learned by now?"

"How could I? I've never done it!"

Britta sighs exasperatedly, lifting Grant out of her lap and into his father's awaiting arms. "Then I'll show you. It's easy."

"It's _gross_," Jeff corrects. "I cannot wait until he's potty-trained."

"Well we've still got at least another two and half years until that happens," Britta smirks. "So you're learning to change him now, because I'm not doing this every time for the rest of the two years."

It's one of those weather-confused days in mid-April; one moment the clouds are dark and rain is pounding on the rooftop and the next, the sun is shining in the bright blue sky behind cumulous, cotton candy-looking white clouds. This is the day, in Grant's third month of life, that Britta decides enough is enough; she'd been understanding of Jeff's aversion to changing diapers at the beginning, because yeah, it is a daunting task to someone who's never done it before. But now, as their son continues to age, it's about time he learns how. He looks adorably apprehensive, she has to admit, and as he lays the baby on the changing table, Britta retrieves a clean diaper and the box of baby wipes from the shelving below.

"Okay, ready? It's super easy," Britta tells him and he rolls his eyes.

"Sure. Because you've been doing this forever."

"Hey, when you have nieces and nephews, you've got to learn fast," Britta defends. "Anyway, the first thing I do is I open up the new diaper. It's always good to have the new one open and ready at your disposal so that when he's all clean and ready you can just slip the new one on. Plus you have less of a chance of getting _surprised_ that way, if you know what I mean."

"I catch your drift," He says, opening the new diaper as far as it could go and smoothing out the creases. "And then?"

"Well then I slide his pants off," Britta informs him and watches as he does so. "But I never take them all the way off; just leave them around his ankles. You'll see why later. Then you can unsnap the onesie and kind of push it up around his torso, around the ribcage, just so it's out of the way."

"And now the real stuff begins," Jeff retorts. "Do I just… go for it?"

"Go for it," She confirms. "Undo the diaper. I mean, this part's pretty self-explanatory. You just clean up whatever mess he's left behind. Remember how I told you to leave the pants around his ankles? That's so you can lift him up to reach the back and you don't have to grab his ankles. He hates that."

"Why are you so good at this?" Jeff asks, struggling, and Britta leaps forward to cover their son with an extra wipe.

"You will be, too," She assures him. "But don't forget to keep him covered. You really don't want to get peed on."

"Okay, got it," Jeff nods, placing the used wipes in the soiled diaper. "And now what?"

"Well his diaper rash cleared up a few days ago, so you don't have to put any ointment on," She says. "So basically, you're done. Slide the new diaper on and tape the sides. Just be careful- you want it to be tight enough that it won't fall off but not so tight that it'll cut off his circulation. After you've got it on, just make sure it's not stuck inside any crevices."

Jeff smirks. "He only has one crevice and it's clear. Do I dress him now?"

"Yup," She smiles. "Snap the onesie back on, pull up his pants, and you're done. Then you wrap up the diaper, dispose of it, and, please, wash your hands."

Jeff chuckles. "Well, that was obvious."

He finishes dressing Grant and grins down at the cooing baby. "Well that wasn't so hard, was it? Did I do a good job?"

The three-month-old glances up at his father and stares for just a bit before his face twists in a splitting, toothless grin. Both his parents grin back at him and this causes Grant to exert a bubbly giggle. Jeff glances over at Britta in shock. "Did he just laugh? He's never done that before!"

"Oh my God!" Britta shrieks. "His first laugh!"

His parents' excitement causes Grant to laugh again and Jeff scoops him up, kissing the side of his head. "Grant, I made you laugh! Britta, I made him _laugh_!"

"Yeah," Britta agrees, sentimental. "You did."

* * *

"This kid drools like a bulldog," Jeff comments as he's tying his son's tiny dress shoes. "I keep wiping his mouth like every two seconds."

Britta chuckles from the bathroom, where's she's still applying makeup. "I've heard the fourth month is when drool production speeds up. He might need to start wearing a bib full time."

Jeff gasps. "And cover his _suit?_ I think not!"

He stands back and examines his handiwork while Grant, propped up on their bed by a few pillows, squeals and grins at him. Today, May 15th, was their college graduation believe it or not and where Jeff had found a mini-suit tailored for a four-month-old was beyond anyone's knowledge, but either way, Grant looked extremely dapper and ready for an afternoon of supporting his graduating parents. Britta enters, sliding a back on one of her earrings, and grins at the sight of her son. "Look at my little man! He's so grown up!"

Jeff straightens, bringing Grant with him. "Thank you, thank you very much."

Britta smirks. "I was talking about Grant."

"I know," He grins. "I was taking credit for his outfit."

She chuckles. "Do you realize this is the last time we'll be going to this school?"

"Yes. Do _you_ realize that the _first_ time we went to this school, you wanted absolutely nothing to do with me?" Jeff teases as the leave the apartment and head towards the car. "Times have changed, huh?"

"Oh please, I still want nothing to do with you," Britta taunts right back as they approach their car and Grant begins to fuss. "I just don't have a choice anymore."

"Whoa, what's up with you, squirmy wormy?" Jeff asks his son as he begins to wail. He attempts to put Grant in the car seat which only makes things worse. "What's his issue?"

"You just have to know how to do it," Britta says, taking the baby from his arms and beginning to bounce him a little, singing, "_Alouette, gentille alouette. __Alouette, je te plumerai. Je te plumerai la __tête, je te plumerai la tête. __Et la tête, et la tête. Alouette, alouette. Ahh, alouette, gentille alouette. Alouette, je te plumerai._"

Grant immediately calms and it distracts him long enough so Britta can strap him in his car seat. When they're finally on the road, Jeff asks, in disbelief, "When did you learn to speak _French_?"

"I didn't," Britta shrugs. "That song is on the lullaby mix CD Annie gave me. It's his favorite."

Shaking his head, Jeff drives onward and soon, they've reached Greendale Community College's graduation ceremony. Andre, seated with the three boys, has agreed to sit with Grant as well and so they pass off their son and get in line to march across the stage. The entire ceremony lasts twenty-five minutes, because the Dean can't get through his speech without sobbing and the table of diplomas was sitting too close to the tiki torches by the side of the stage, so the Xs through Zs catch on fire. Luckily, this doesn't affect anyone in the group and once they're all across the stage, Annie makes them take the typical, nonsensical group photos- one of them in their caps and gowns, one where they're tossing their caps in the air, and another of the seven doing a High School Musical-esque jump.

When it's over, Jeff and Britta collect Grant and Shirley insists on taking a photo of the little family now, with their graduation garb. Jeff's cradling Grant with his right arm and uses his left to pluck off his cap and place in his son's head. Britta chuckles at this and places her rolled diploma in his lap so Grant appears to be the youngest matriculated student Greendale's ever seen. Once they're settled, Britta tickles her son's belly to make him laugh and Shirley positions the camera to get the shot. She says after that it's perfect but they need one more, a duplicate, just in case.

This time, instead of smiling, Jeff uses his free hand to pull Britta's mouth to his own.

* * *

June arrives and with Grant's fifth month comes a whole slew of new milestones- the first time he rolled over, his ability to hold his own head up, the ability to tell family from strangers…

And, oh yeah, the first signs of teething.

"Come on, baby," Britta pleads with the infant, who's sitting in his high chair and squirming to be freed, shrieking at the top of his lungs. "I know your mouth hurts, but I also know you're hungry…"

They had started him on solid food by their doctor's request a few days earlier even though she advised to continue breastfeeding as well. They'd started small, with just a simple rice cereal, and would elevate from there. He'd enjoyed it at first, but today, his entire face screamed displeasure; his eyes were squeezed shut, his face red and contorted, his eyes gushing a steady stream of crystalline tears. Britta decides to give up and tosses the uneaten cereal in the sink, extricating him from his high chair, and bouncing him up a down a bit in her own chair, cooing a few soft phrases to him to get him to calm down.

He doesn't, so she stands and enters the living room, which is a disastrous mess that she hasn't gotten time to clean up yet, and sits down comfortably on the sofa. Thinking maybe he'll want to breastfeed since he didn't want actual food, she attempts to feed him again, with some success, anyway. He sucks on and off and screams in the off time and she knows how painful this must be and wishes there was something she could do about it. It's killing her to watch her son scream in agony. Thankfully the front door twists and opens as Jeff enters the apartment, hopefully with a solution.

"All they had was Baby Motrin," Jeff apologizes. "I asked the pharmacist if that would be an okay substitute for Tylenol and she said if we gave him a teaspoon every six to eight hours it should keep the pain down."

"Okay," Britta nods. "That'll have to work. Did they have teething rings?"

"They did, but not one of them was cold," Jeff frowns, tearing at the packages as he crosses the room towards the kitchen and stuffing them immediately into the freezer. "So I bought Popsicles, too, for temporary relief."

Britta smiles softly, completely spent. "You're a lifesaver."

"I do what I can," He chuckles, unwrapping a Popsicle and sitting beside her. He gestures towards where Grant is still nursing on and off and asks, "Is that even working?"

"Kind of," She shrugs, transferring the baby into his arms and slipping her shirt back on. "I can tell he's hungry, but he doesn't want to eat."

"It probably hurts too much," Jeff says, taking the opportunity to dump a teaspoon of Motrin into his son's wide open mouth. "You know, if you froze your nipples, it would probably make him feel a lot better."

Britta rolls her eyes. "Again with the nipple freezing. Just how do you expect me to do that?"

"Just a suggestion," Jeff chuckles, settling Grant down a bit and sticking the cherry-flavored Popsicle on the sorest spot on his gum line. "Before you ask, yes I got the organic ones that are made of real fruit. I didn't buy the artificially flavored ones."

Britta grins. "You know me so well."

Grant, at first a little confused by the new food source, soon ceases crying and instead begins to thoroughly enjoy his first Popsicle. At this, both parents visibly relax and Jeff rotates the frozen treat so his son gets the coldest parts. "Alright buddy, there we go. Much better now, right? Hang in there; you only get teeth once."

"Well technically these are going to fall out," Britta yawns. "And then we have to go through this all over again."

"It'll be a lot easier, though, because he'll be much older." Jeff tells her and then holds out his hand. "Crisis averted for now?"

"Yeah," Britta gives him a high-five. "Good thinking, Super Dad."

* * *

Grant hits the six-month mark on a sticky Wednesday in July and with it, he learns a whole new set of skills. He's sitting without support now, grasping toys and chewing on them to feed that hungry energy his newly growing teeth are sending him, and he's even taken to saying a few word-like syllables- ma, da, mu, di, and the like. It's now become a competition between Jeff and Britta to see which one of them can get Grant to say their title first; it's a battle of his first words- ma-ma or da-da.

Currently, he's completely unfazed by either word, because most of the things that come squealing out of his mouth are mindless syllables and babbling sounds and it's up to Jeff and Britta to decide what it is he's saying. Today, they've taken him to the park just blocks away from their complex and are alternately pushing him in the infant swing, which he absolutely loves, kicking his feet and giggling excitedly. It's unbearably hot today, Jeff decides, and wishes he dressed in anything but the cargo shorts and plaid shirt he's currently sporting, which are only trapping heat in. Britta is in much cooler wear- a sundress, which, a) Britta in anything other than jeans is always a complete shock, and b) she looks absolutely radiant.

"Can you believe he's halfway to a year already?" Britta says introspectively, pushing the swing gently and watching her son take off into the wind. "I can't believe we've made it this far. I can't believe we haven't murdered each other yet."

Jeff scoffs. "You have no faith in us. We're more mature than you take us for."

Britta laughs. "No we're not! Our relationship, if you can even call it that, started based on sex-"

"Really good sex," He interjects, but she continues.

"- That we started having because we were mutually attracted to one another, not because we ever had any romantic feelings for one another-"

"You're smart and hot; that's not romantic enough for you?"

"- That ended up with me, pregnant, and you becoming a father even though I don't think you ever really wanted kids-"

"That's not true; kids are great. I _love_ Grant."

"- That is now just you and I, never talking about what _we_ are together, just what we are as parents," Britta finishes. "I don't even know where you and I stand because we've never talked about it and that's because we're still immature college kids."

"We've never talked about it?" Jeff asks, incredulous. "_You've_ never wanted to talk about it! You were all, 'Oh, I hate relationships! Let's just have sex!'"

"Oh, because you disagreed?" Britta shoots back. "You were like, 'Great! Commitment is for suckers! No strings attached, Britta! That's okay with me!'"

"And it _was_ okay with me, but clearly, that's not going to work anymore," Jeff argues. "You might hate relationships for some completely unknown reason and personally, I'm not a fan of them myself. I've never seen one work, but we are going to have to, because we have a kid now!"

"I completely agree!" She retorts. "I never wanted to be the doting housewife my mother was, Jeff. I never even planned on having kids. But now that I have one, I'm glad it's with you. You're a great father."

"And you're a fantastic mother," Jeff softens. "And I'm going to kiss you now."

"Well, you better."

Grant giggles and coos between them and when they break apart, Britta says, "I still don't think we solved anything."

"Really?" Jeff asks, skeptical. "I do."


	2. Months 7 through 12

Insomnia and the Developing Infant

Months 7-12

It's hailing as Britta steps outside of the Whole Foods where she's currently working (laugh all you want, but she gets discounts on _everything_) that balmy August evening and she curses and pulls the flimsy hood of her raincoat over her head as she heads down the street. She's picked up the job part-time so she can pay off her Greendale debt and her current tuition for the classes she's taking online towards her master's degree and it's not a great job, but it pays well, so she'll take what she can get. Plus, she doesn't have to wait tables anymore, so that's always a plus.

She misses Grant like crazy, though, and it's always super difficult to concentrate when mothers push carts past her with cooing infants in the front seat. Jeff, who starts back at the law firm in just three short weeks and is chomping at the bit to get back to practicing law, has been staying home with their son and, truthfully, he's been amazing. She's continuously shocked at how naturally he fell into this father role, because where would he have learned it from? Either way, she's not worried; Grant's happy and so are they.

She's sitting in her car, the key in the ignition, when she gets a call from the devil. Well technically it's her mother, but they're one in the same. Britta lets the phone ring three times before she finally answers, less than thrilled. "Hello?"

"_Well, don't sound so happy to talk to me, dear. You know it's been over a year since you've called me, Britta?_"

"The phone works both ways, Mom," Britta rolls her eyes, her good mood already completely dampened.

"_Well, I've been meaning to call you ever since I heard the news of a new grandchild. Call me pessimistic, but I never thought it would happen! You a mother? And please tell me it's not with that petty, lazy, good-for-nothing guy you were casual with last year, because your father will have a heart attack and I_-"

"His name is Jeff, Mother, he's a person too," Britta frowns. "And how did you even find out about us? Like you've said, it's been over a year."

"_Mothers have their ways. Surely you know that by now. Well when can I meet the little guy? What's his name? Graham? That's a cookie, you know._"

"Yeah, well I'm named after a water filter," Britta sighs. "And it's _Grant_, Mom. Grant."

"_Well I suppose that's a little better, although not by much. Oh Britta. You've really disappointed me once again. I don't know why you couldn't have married first… Or at least had a steady job! College is for teenagers, Britta, and you're well over the age. And who watches the baby while you're at school? You definitely don't have the money for a proper nanny, that's for sure-_"

"Mom, it really isn't any of your business," Britta tells her and hears her mother sigh in disappointment. "And I need to go so when you're ready to be a proper mother and respect and accept Jeff and our son, then you can be in my life. But where you are now, I doubt that's going to happen."

With this, she hangs up on her mother mid-sentence and pinches the bridge of her nose in aggravation. She rethinks this conversation the entire drive home and promises herself with all of her heart that she and Grant will never have this kind of relationship. She will always be understanding and accepting of anything Grant wants to do, because she can't bear to put this kind of stress and pressure on her son. Still visibly irritated, she parks the car, grabs groceries from the trunk, and trudges up to their second-floor apartment, letting herself in the front door and kicking off her shoes dejectedly. She can hear commotion in the living room and when she enters, she sees Jeff and Grant settled on the couch, watching an episode of _LOST_.

"… See they're in trouble now, Grant," Jeff explains to the infant, who does seem to be oddly entranced by the show. "Because Kate needs immediate attention to that wound, but look what's in his backpack! Not thread, to sew it up. Not a cloth, to wipe up the blood. But, there's-"

"A bomb," Britta answers and both Jeff and her son glance up at her, the latter squealing excitedly and reaching for her. "Hey, buddy! How's my Grant?"

She settles in next to them and pulls the baby onto her lap. "This is a good episode."

"They're _all_ good," Jeff scoffs and Britta smirks half-heartedly, not continuing the banter, which tells him there's something wrong. He nudges her. "Hey. You okay?"

She shrugs and turns to Grant. "That's one hell of an act of chivalry by Sayid, isn't it, baby? Oh, and Sun and Jin. So heartbreaking. This is also the episode that solidified Jack and Kate's relationship, for me, because look- Sawyer's lying unconscious on the beach, but who does she run to? Who was she looking for? Jack. Don't listen to Daddy, Grant. He's a Sawyer and Kate fan."

"I don't watch _LOST_ for the romance," Jeff rolls his eyes and ignores Britta's indignant "Neither do I!" to reply, "But I'm just saying sex in a cage is pretty hot. And, well, Sawyer gets off the Island with Kate. Jack dies."

Britta frowns. "But they're together in the afterlife."

"Eh," Jeff shrugs. "Agree to disagree?"

"Sure."

"Good," Jeff says as the episode ends. "Now what's up?"

"My mother disapproves of our situation," Britta frowns. "Who cares? Let's eat. I'm starving."

"Wait, you talked to your mother?" Jeff asks and she nods slowly. "Why?"

She hesitates and then says, "Because I keep hoping that one time, our conversation will go differently. I know it's stupid and I keep setting myself up for disappointment, but every time she calls I hope that it's going to be the one time she says, 'Britta, I don't care what you decide to do. It's your life and you can live it any way you want and I won't love you any differently.' I just want her to finally understand that I'm not going to be who she wants me to be… But she never does. I've given her all this time to change that and she hasn't done it once. But that doesn't stop me from _hoping_."

Jeff sighs and pulls her into a hug, Grant squished between them, and kisses her hair. "I'm sorry. I know how much you want her to be understanding and to love you no matter what. Believe me, I know. It's just… Parents _suck_."

"I know," Britta says, pulling away when Grant protests. "It's just love is really important and I wish she'd understand that."

"Well Grant loves you," Jeff tells her sincerely. "And I love you."

Her eyes snap to his, not skeptical, just in shock. "You do?"

"Of course I do," He tells her as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "I've loved you for a long time."

She smiles slightly, but covers it by asking, "Are you sure you're not just saying this to make me feel better?"

"I _am_ saying it to make you feel better," Jeff admits. "But I still mean it. And I'm not challenging you to say it back or anything. Just… whenever. It's not a race."

She grins at him stupidly and matches her expression and the two share a loving kiss which in itself is new to them. They've kissed plenty of times before, but nothing ever quite like this. They've had passionate kisses and regretful kisses and drunken kisses (these make up the majority, most likely) and even revengeful, hateful kisses, but nothing as comforting and intimate as this one. It feels as though all of the weights on their shoulders, the burdens and stressors, the pressures of not knowing where they stand are completely blown away, lifted away and out of their minds and left behind is this feeling that started growing when they first met and never really got extinguished.

"I love you too," She responds and it feels like a freeing experience.

"Oh good," Jeff smirks. "That was a long wait."

* * *

The beginning of September marks his son's eighth month of life, but it also means that Jeff is finally able to return to the law firm after four years of probation. He awakens that morning excitedly nervous, anxious to be back in the game after such a long time of waiting on the sidelines, but also a bit reluctant to leave the comforts of his own home, his own life. He's also a bit more reluctant than usual today, because though he is fine and well, Britta and the baby are fairly sick. He's not sure where the two picked up the common cold, as it isn't even cold and flu season yet, but he's pretty glad he hasn't been infected yet, needless to say.

Grant's sleeping patterns had evened out a bit more over the past few weeks and although he still wasn't sleeping through the night, he was sleeping for a good portion of it, which in turn led to Jeff and Britta's sleeping patterns improving as well. That morning, they both awakened fairly early, with Britta taking Tylenol for her growing fever and heading into the baby's room to silence the deafening cries and Jeff taking a shower and dressing in a three-piece suit- something he hadn't done in ages. He's tying and re-tying his plaid skinny tie over and over again nervously as Britta enters the room, Grant in her arms.

"Here's Daddy transforming into the lawyer douche four years of Greendale couldn't shake out of him," Britta teases to Grant, coughing a little as Grant does the same.

"And here's Mommy, trying to be her usual, mocking self, but too doped up on cold medicine to actually do so," He teases back and then gestures towards the way she's carrying their son. "Why is he hanging off of you like that?"

It was true; Grant was on her right hip, but his back was to her torso with her right arm stretching across his body diagonally, her hand between his legs to hold him there. She shrugs. "It's the only way I can hold him so that he doesn't freak out. He's very cranky when he's sick- very much like his father, that way."

"Oh shush," He tells her and turns so she can properly view him. "What do you think of this tie? Too much? Too little?"

Before she could answer, Grant coughs harshly a few times and spits up mucus and undigested breast milk all over the aforementioned tie. Britta has to hold back a laugh. "Yeah, I don't like it either, Grant."

Jeff groans and yanks off the tie and the accompanying shirt. "Alright, guess white's not happening today. Maybe blue…?"

"Why are you so nervous?" Britta asks. "I'm sure you'll be just as good of a lawyer as you were last time."

"Do you know how hard it's going to be to show my face in there after getting busted the way I did?" Jeff inquires, shirtless and searching for a new tie. "I'm going to be the laughingstock of the whole firm."

Britta shakes her head. "You'll be great. I know it."

He shrugs into a fresh shirt and tie and thanks her, leaning down to kiss both her and the baby, even though she protests by saying she'll get him sick. He kisses her anyway. "Get some rest today? You both look awful."

"I feel awful," Britta admits. "My head feels like it's in a vice, I can't breathe through my nose, my throat is scratchy and sore, and I'm pretty sure I have a fever. But I don't care about me. It's Grant who needs to get better. Poor little guy."

"Well I care about _both_ of you," Jeff tells her as they retreat to the living room, having finally found the perfect shirt-tie-jacket combo. "So drink lots of fluids and just get some rest."

"Will do."

He's halfway out the door before he pauses and turns back to ask, "You sure you don't want me to stay? Take care of you guys?"

"I can take care of myself, Jeff. And my son," Britta states adamantly and then softens. "Go be a lawyer again."

He grins back. "Okay."

The day passes slowly, with Jeff spending most of his time trying to avoid certain coworkers and establish a rapport with others again. His boss greets him excitedly, glad he was back on the team, and Alan greets him a bit begrudgingly, wondering, Jeff is sure, how he could knock him off his high throne once more. Once back in his office, Jeff spends a good amount of time sitting behind his desk just simply staring because it felt so unreal that he was back there again. He illuminates his computer, brushes some dust off of the windowsill, and places the framed photo of himself, Britta, and Grant at graduation that Shirley had taken months earlier. Alan teases him for going soft, for catching feelings, for losing his grip on the harsh realities of the world. Jeff wonders if this is true.

When the day finally ends, five o'clock coming much too soon and not soon enough, Jeff hurries home, eager to tell Britta about his day, which is new, because he never used to have anyone to talk to about these things. He parks the car and nearly sprints up the stairs to see her and to see Grant, because although it's only been around nine hours, give or take, he's missed them. Also new, because before, there had been no one to miss. He enters the apartment, removing his jacket and shoes and loosening his tie, but there's Britta, fast asleep on the couch with Grant right beside her, the two snuggled beneath a blanket as though it was the middle of the night. Jeff grins at the sight, glad they took his advice about getting rest, and gently extricates his son from her grasp, kissing his flushed cheek and moving him to his crib, where he'd be more comfortable.

He gets a cool washcloth, then, and returns to the living room, where he sits beside Britta and gently places the cloth to her burning forehead. She jumps awake at this and immediately panics. "Where's Grant? When did you get home?"

"Just now," He tells her. "Relax, I put Grant in his crib. He's out like a light."

She does relax and settles back against the couch. "Oh. Okay. Thanks. How was work?"

"It was fine," Jeff shrugs it off. "How are you feeling, though? You don't look any better."

"I don't feel any better," Britta says honestly, but smiles anyway. "I'm glad you're home."

He was glad, too.

* * *

Just when they though Grant was going to turn his sleeping patterns around and make life easy on them, he did a complete 180 and decided every time bed time arose, he'd turn it into playtime.

Halloween this year had been a complete dud compared to the epic Greendale adventures, but Jeff and Britta had dressed their son as Elvis (and he had been the _cutest_ thing in the entire world, thank you very much) and taken him around their complex trick-or-treating. At nine months old, Grant had turned into quite the social butterfly; he grinned, waved, giggled, and talked (though what were coming out of his mouth weren't necessarily _words_) to pretty much everyone he came into contact with. Britta joked all the time about how he was a mini-Jeff and he was; he was already a charming little ladies man. But even though his personality was all Jeff, with the curly blonde hair, big blue eyes and striking features, his looks were all Britta.

That night, as Grant plays excitedly with the toys on his bedroom floor, Jeff and Britta watch the monkey clock on the wall above the changing table as the hours tick away one by one. It's nearing midnight when Britta asks, "Hey Grant! Are we going to go to sleep tonight?"

The little boy just chuckles and reaches for the brightly colored train that's just slightly out of reach. Jeff smirks. "I guess he told you."

Britta sighs and sits back against the crib. "He's never going to sleep, is he? We're going to have the only kid in the world who still isn't sleeping through the night when he's eighteen."

"We just might, at this point," Jeff watches Grant as he whines and reaches, still, for that out of reach toy train. "Can't get it, bud?"

But just as Jeff is about to grab it for him, Grant pushes himself forward on all fours and scrambles a little ungracefully towards the train. He'd been attempting crawling for weeks now, but not once had he ever grasped the concept. Jeff and Britta stare at him in shock and then watch as he plops back down and begins to play with the train. He's playing for a while longer before he notices his parents staring at him and giggles excitedly, babbling out a slew of incomprehensible words. Britta exclaims, "He just… He just crawled across the entire room!"

"Time to baby proof the apartment," Jeff states. "The kid's mobile now!"

The train already forgotten, Grant scurries over on all fours to where his parents are sitting and reaches for the bars of his crib, where they both watch as he grabs one in his right hand, one in his left, and pulls himself to a standing position. His blonde curls bounce as he shakes himself back and forth against the crib and laughs uncontrollably. Britta plucks him from the bars of the crib and begins to tickle him, showering him with kisses as the little boy squirms and squeals. "Oh, you're such a little man, now! What are you going to do next, huh? Apply to college? Buy a car? Get married?"

"I seriously can't believe he just did that," Jeff states in shock. "I mean tonight, I stood him up so I could pull his pajamas on and he collapsed on me! What a stubborn kid."

"Where does he get _that_ from?" Britta asks rhetorically, shooting him a glance. "He just wanted to things on his own time, I guess."

"I guess so. I wish he would _sleep_ on his own time," Jeff says and Britta nods her agreement. "I bet the Millers are sound asleep next door."

The Millers are the couple who had also just had a baby; you know, the perfect little girl who slept through the night? Britta shrugs. "Yeah, but Grant's way cuter."

"Oh, he's _way_ cuter," Jeff agrees. "But of course he is- he's _our_ kid."

Britta laughs. "He's also way more fun. He laughs so much and he's so playful."

"He is, he's _so_ playful," Jeff agrees. "Plus he's talkative and flirty. He's my son, no doubt."

"And he's snuggly and cuddly," Britta grins warmly. "He's just the best."

"He really is," Jeff concurs. "How did we get so lucky?"

Britta shrugs. "He's the best accident I ever had."

Jeff laughs out loud. "Don't call him an accident!"

"Well he is!" Britta defends. "I mean it in the best possible way, I swear. I love this kid to death."

"So do I," Jeff grins, ruffling his son's rowdy hair. "Best damn accident we've ever made."

* * *

In the end, Britta had won.

The first word competition, that is. The day before Grant hits his ten-month mark, he squeals out an excited, "Ma-ma!" when Britta comes home from work, something Jeff tries to deny, since he wasn't there, until he hears him scream it again later that same night. She spends the rest of the night and week gloating about it and doesn't ease up even when, a few weeks later, Grant learns a few new words- hi, bye, and no. Still, "da-da" hasn't quite made it to his vocabulary, and it's still something Britta likes to rub in his face.

This morning is the day before Thanksgiving and this year, Jeff and Britta have decided to host Thanksgiving at their apartment and invite the study group over for a little get together. They've never done this before, needless to say, and so they're both a little apprehensive and on edge as they get their things together, clean the apartment of debris and baby toys, and try to come to terms with seeing their family again. Jeff's currently making a grocery list in the other room while Britta is on the phone with the bakery down the street, who is insisting she cannot make anymore pies between now and the next morning.

And a hungry little Grant is not helping the stressful situation.

"Ma-ma," Grant whines, coasting from high chair to wall to kitchen table and back again. He'd been coasting (that's walking while holding on to something, not walking without support, you know) for a few days now and uses it to his advantage to get what he wants. In this situation- food. "_Ma-ma!_"

"… Yes, I understand," Britta sighs. "But I'm asking for two pies, Greta. Two. I'm willing to pay you double, triple even…"

"Ma-ma," Grant begins to cry. "Ma-ma!"

"Greta, I have five people coming over tomorrow, plus the three that already live here," Britta persuades. "Is it really going to kill you- I mean, would it really be that much of a hassle to make two more pies?"

"Ma-ma!" Grant squeal, stomping his feet angrily. He isn't used to being ignored and this infuriates him. "_Ma-ma!_"

"Ugh. I am not even that good of a _cook_, let alone a baker," Britta tells her. "I'm asking you for a favor; it's not like I can do this myself!"

Finally, Grant throws himself upon the floor and screams, throwing a tantrum and winning his mother's attention. "_Ma-ma!_"

"Grant," Britta sighs, bending down and scooping her wailing son into her arms. "Greta, you've really let me down. I will not be recommending you to friends and family."

With this, she hangs up and shakes her head at her son, who's still screaming. "I know you're hungry, baby. I know. Come on."

Slipping him into his high chair, she opens a fresh jar of organic baby food and begins to spoon feed her son, who finally quiets down. Scrolling through the caller id with her other hand, Britta notices a number had beeped through during her call with the bake shop. Upon further inspection, she realizes the call was from Jeff's mother. Not completely odd, since it was almost a holiday and that's really the only time she made contact with her son. But still, something felt off; call it a mother's intuition, but Britta sensed her mother had a hidden agenda.

Just then, the phone rings again and it's his mother once more. She calls out, "Jeff! Get the phone! It's your mom!" because honestly, she's not a fan of the woman and doesn't have the patience to speak to her today.

He picks up after the second ring and she can't hear the conversation from their position in the kitchen, but it doesn't last long. He appears in the kitchen within a second and grabs his keys off the ledge. "Hey, I'm going to go get the groceries. I'll be back."

"Okay," She answers. "What did your Mom want?"

Jeff hesitates. "My father's in town… She wanted to know if I wanted to see him."

Britta's eyes widen and she drops the baby spoon she's holding. "Are you serious? Are you going to see him?"

"I don't know. I don't…" He trails off. "We'll see. Anyway, I'll be back."

"Okay. Okay, well, good luck," She smiles reassuringly. "We're rooting for you back home."

"Thanks," He shoots her a grin and waves to Grant. "Bye-bye Grant!"

"Bye!" Grant waves back and this puts a smile on Jeff's face.

Once he's left, Britta continues to feed their son and once he's fed and clean she tells him, "Your Daddy's probably not going to have a very good day. Want to do something nice to cheer him up?"

"Da…?" Grant trails off and Britta grins.

"Grant, you read my mind," She says. "Let's try and finish that word, okay?"

Britta works with him all day, taking breaks for lunch, naps, and of course, playtime. It's nearing four o'clock when she sees Jeff's car pull into the parking lot below and she readies Grant for his arrival. She's not sure what to expect from Jeff's visit- or avoidance of a visit- with his father, but she knows either way it would have been a trying experience. There are footsteps in the hallway and then the doorknob twists as the door opens. Jeff hangs his coat on the hook beside the front door and sighs while taking off his shoes. Good sigh or bad sigh, Britta can't tell, but when he rounds the corner into the living room where she's seated with their son, she gets her answer.

Bad sigh. Definitely bad sigh. He looks _crushed_. The only other thing she can compare it to would be that time she picked him up after that hellish bar mitzvah, his face crumpling, broken. So, she does what she prepared to do. She stands and points at Jeff, asking Grant, "Hey Grant! Look who's home! Who is that?"

Grant's entire face brightens and he says, "Da-da!"

She can tell this small action's made his day, because Jeff grins and crosses the room to scoop Grant into his own arms. "No way! Grant! You _finally_ said it! Who am I?"

"Da-da!"

"Who am I?"

"Da-da!"

Jeff chuckles, kissing his son proudly. "I'm never going to get sick of hearing that."

Britta nods. "You never do, trust me."

Her concerned look is imploring and Jeff feels his resolve crumbling. "Thank you for getting him to say that. I needed it. My Mom and I waited for three and half hours and my Dad never showed up. I should've expected it, but… It's kind of like you and your Mom, you know? I always hope the next chance I give him will be the one he takes, but he always lets me down."

Britta says nothing and instead moves into him, wraps her arms around his torso in a hug as she feels his arms come around her shoulders. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"I'm sorry too," Jeff says. "But hey, who needs him? I've got you, I've got Grant, I've got my job… You certainly don't need a father to learn how to _be_ a father. He's proven that to me time and time again."

Britta nods her agreement and repeats his own words. "Parents suck."

"They really do."

"Promise me we'll never be like our parents?" Britta asks. "Because I don't want Grant to be in our position in thirty years saying this same thing."

"Promise," Jeff states adamantly. "It'll never happen."

* * *

By eleven months, while most babies hit a growth decline, Grant reaches a growth spurt. While most babies are losing their ravenous appetite and becoming more normal, Grant does the exact opposite. And while most babies are just beginning to take those few solo steps, Grant sprints across the apartment as if his life depended on it. December had been a busy and cold month and Jeff and Britta's heads were spinning trying to keep up with their rapidly growing baby. It's hard to believe that the tiny squirming infant born in a hospital hallway was now a walking, talking, giggling machine.

Britta's parents had invited them for Christmas dinner, but following the argument she'd had with her mother over the summer, she respectfully (kind of) declined. They instead would be dining at Shirley's and had asked a million times over what they could bring and even though she refused them over and over, they still felt obligated. So this afternoon, Christmas Eve, Britta's typing furiously on her laptop, finishing a paper that was due the previous week (though a benefit of online schooling is that deadlines are definitely more lenient). There's a knock on the front door and Britta groans, shoving her paper aside and heading to the door, eyes widening as she comes face to face with two people she hadn't expected to see.

Just then Jeff enters the room, yawning. "I'm so glad we're not going to your parents' tomorrow-"

Britta glances over her shoulder and when Jeff makes eye contact with her, his jaw drops. Britta's parents are standing on the other side of the door and her mother greets him, tight-lipped, "Hello Jeffrey."

"- because I would feel like I was imposing on them," Jeff grins, recovering. "Hi Mr. and Mrs. Perry. How are you?"

The afternoon goes about at as well as you might expect. They're both eternally thankful that Grant is napping, because if he had been around for the arguments that ensued, they never would have forgiven themselves. It had started out semi-normal; Britta's father, with his "I don't have time for bullshit" attitude, had sat back and watched everything unfold as Britta's mother commented on every nitpicking thing until finally, Britta snapped. She goes off on her mother, finally releasing her pent up aggression, though not doing so in the appropriate manner or for the right reasons.

Her mother doesn't even have the decency to look affronted; she responds that if Britta wants her love and support, then she has to earn it. She expects her daughter to be the classy, hard-working individual she raised and if she wants to "slum it" (her actual words) by living in some second-rate apartment with a low-paying job than she'll just have to suffer the consequences. Britta's too shocked to respond and Jeff's had about all he can take; he's never been okay with people openly insulting Britta to her face. So he yells back and pretty soon, her father's joined the shouting match too and all four of them yelling is causing quite a ruckus. Grant awakens down the hall, screaming, and Britta steps back and says quietly, "I think you should go."

Her mother sternly nods. "I think we should."

Once they had departed, without saying goodbye, Britta slams the door behind them and whirls around to face Jeff, angry and wild. "What the _fuck_ was that all about?"

Jeff glances at her in confusion. "Are you honestly mad at me? I wasn't going to let them treat you like that!"

"What? Mad at you?" Britta shakes her head furiously. "I'm mad at _them_! They come in here and can't even be civil for _ten seconds_ before starting a fight!"

"I know. Believe me; I'm on your side."

"Thank you," She sighs. "No one's ever stood up for me before. I don't know what happened to me. I just… lost it today."

"Well of course," Jeff says. "They treat you like shit all the time. I've been waiting for you to crack."

"I'm such a coward," Britta shakes her head. "I didn't even say all of the things I wanted to."

"You'll say it eventually," Jeff assures her. "I have faith. Let's get Grant, yeah?"

She nods and the two head down the hallway towards their son's room, who, upon entering, doesn't cease crying, but pulls himself to a standing position, tears pouring down his face as he continues to sob. He reaches towards his father as Jeff comes into view and the latter pulls his son from the crib and into his arms, swiping salty tears off his cheeks as he finally quiets. When Jeff looks back at Britta, who's standing in the doorway, he notices her displeasure, frowns, and asks, "You okay?"

"No!" She insists as if that's obvious. "My parents hate me! Everything has to be their way or the highway and nothing I will ever do will be good enough for them. It sounds stupid, I know, but sometimes I look at Grant and I'm _so_ envious of him because I know you love him and I know _I_ love him and I will never have that. I love Grant more than anything and nothing will ever change that. I don't care if he wants to be an astronaut, a ballet dancer, a lawyer, or a nuclear physicist. I don't care if he marries right out of college and has a ton of kids, I don't care if he gets his high school girlfriend pregnant, I don't care if he remains an eternal bachelor. I don't care if he wants to do everything or nothing at all; just as long as he's _happy_. He can do whatever he wants and I'll be there for him because I love him _unconditionally_. And I'm so jealous of him because of that, because my parents obviously don't feel the same way."

Jeff is quiet for a long time, contemplating everything Britta's just said. He looks at this woman, this beautifully broken women who's been through a world of shit, and thinks he's had that clichéd moment where he's finally realized just how deep his feelings run for her. He loves her- that's a given- but looking at her now, just utterly desperate and disappointed, Jeff wants nothing more than find the source of her despair and rid her of it, do anything he can to make her stop hurting, because it hurts him to watch her suffer. He feels this massive pain in his chest when he looks at her and it isn't because he's suddenly some sappy romantic. It's because Britta's been emotionally damaged and this, by extension, has damaged him too.

He settles Grant with one of his many toys and crosses the room to where Britta's standing, pulling her into an embrace which she responds to after a slight hesitation. He isn't sure what to say to make her feel better; now would be the best time for a Winger speech, but he's too blinded by the intense rage he's feeling towards her parents for making her feel this way to think of anything good to say. It does scare him somewhat to see her this vulnerable, because normally Britta's possibly the strongest person he's ever met. He says, "It's going to be alright. You'll get through it… You will, right? Because if you don't, I _never_ will."

He's referencing his issues with his own father and Britta can sense this as she pulls away to look him in the eye. "Yeah. Yeah, I will. And so will you. I know it."

As his parents share this intimate moment, Grant plays, oblivious, beneath them. It's not a matter that concerns him because his parents, although a bit unconventional, will love him no matter what.

* * *

The day had finally come- January 14th of that year is Grant's first birthday. At first, they hadn't planned to have a huge party, but as things continue to escalate, Jeff and Britta realize that their small get together with just their Greendale family and a few neighbors has turned into a bit of monster-sized blowout. Either way, they've themed the party planes, trains, and automobiles, because Grant's been _obsessed_ with them lately, and set the party for eleven o'clock- pre-nap time, so he won't be too cranky. Granted, he never really sleeps anyway.

So that morning, as Grant bounces excitedly in his high chair, Britta's putting out simple finger foods for the children and putting together more complex hors d'oeurves for the adults while Jeff is hanging a few banners and shoddily made cardboard airplanes in the living room. He's put out Grant's entire collection of planes/trains/car toys and has bought innumerous balloons, because Grant loves those too. When he's finished, he meets Britta halfway in the kitchen, laughs, and asks when they turned into the Cleavers. She chuckles and tells him that's what happens when one becomes a parent.

The first people to arrive are their next-door neighbors, the Millers. Yes, they might be eternally envious of little Ava's impeccable sleeping abilities, but they decided to be gracious and invite them anyway. Plus, Ava and Grant, in the rare few times they've gotten together before, get along fantastically well, so why not? Shirley arrives moments later, Andre and all three boys in tow, and brings with her Grant's first birthday cake- a fairly large replica of a train with his name in icing on the front car. She had even made it so that the frosting-smoke clouds billowing out of the train's engine formed a one. Jeff and Britta had seriously underestimated her baking abilities.

Pierce shows up next and despite everyone's beliefs and against all odds, he's actually significantly important to Grant's life and is pretty good with him. He's more of a grandfather to Grant than his two _actual_ grandfathers, and despite former feelings of apprehension, Jeff and Britta are actually pretty fond of Pierce's relationship with their son. Annie, Troy, and Abed are the last to arrive, but this is only because their gift happened to be one of those motorized mini-cars babies could actually ride in and it had just arrived by UPS.

It's a pretty low-key party, but that's mainly because the guest of honor isn't exactly ready for pony rides and bouncy castles. There's a brief session of finger painting and lots of supervised play with the infant toys before Britta decides it's time for cake. Cheerfully, they sing a rendition of "Happy Birthday to You!" and serve Grant the first piece of cake, grinning when his eyes light up and laughing whole-heartedly when he smashes the cake all over himself. They open presents following this and then, as Grant lets out a catlike yawn, the party is over. It must have been too much of a party for the little guy, because he doesn't even protest when his parents put him down for a much-needed nap.

"Grant is passed _out_," Jeff chuckles, entering the living room from the hallway, where Britta's cleaning up the aftermath of the short-lived party.

She looks pensive and then says, "It's so crazy it's been a year already, isn't it? I mean, a year ago today, I was having a baby in the hallway."

"Yeah," Jeff agrees, sitting upon the leather couch. "You had finally stopped flipping your shit about everything… And I had just started."

Britta smirks, sitting beside him. "I was a bit of a crazy person, wasn't I?"

"A _bit?_" He asks incredulously. "You were a psychopath."

"Well, you were _no_ help with your calm, 'everything's going to work out, just relax' attitude," Britta responds.

Jeff looks at her quizzically. "And did everything work out?"

She purses her lips, hesitating before saying, "Yes."

"I rest my case."

She rolls her eyes, but that doesn't stop the smile on her face from growing. Jeff grins at her, too, and begins to speak just as she does the same. "I want to ask you something."

"I have something to tell you."

They shake their heads, laughing, and Jeff says, "Me first. Look-"

"Wait, why do you get to go first?" Britta inquires and Jeff smirks.

"Age before beauty, kitten."

"Please! You're like two years older than me," Britta scoffs. "What I have to say is more important."

"I doubt it," Jeff says. "But fine. We can flip a coin."

"Yeah, _right_," Britta disagrees. "Heads you win, tails I lose? You don't exactly play fair."

"Fine," Jeff sighs. "Together, then. On the count of three."

"If you insist."

"One…"

"Two…"

"Three."

"I want to get married."

"I'm pregnant."

"Wait, what?"

"_What?_"

Okay so the whole saying it the same time thing? Horrible idea.

"Me first," Jeff demands. "You're _pregnant?_ Again? I thought we were using protection!"

"We were!" Britta tells him. "But it's only like ninety-something percent effective and odds have _never_ been in our favor."

"So we're really going to have another baby?" He asks and she nods slowly. "We're going to have two kids under two? Two kids in diapers? Two insomniacs?"

Again, she nods. "Looks that way, yeah."

"Okay," He says slowly and then much more confidently. "Okay, yeah. We can handle this. I love Grant; I'll love this kid too."

"Alright, you're good, then?" Britta inquires and when she gets approval, begins ranting. "Now it's my turn. _Married?_ Where in the hell did that come from? I thought we are all about breaking the norms of society! Not getting married, raising our son in an open environment, sticking it to the man…"

"Oh come on," Jeff argues. "We don't need to 'stick it to the man' any further. Our situation is as unique as possible. Don't you want to complete things?"

"Not really," She says honestly. "I don't believe in marriage. It's constricting and it's damaging and no one is making it last anymore."

He stares at her. "You don't believe that. You just _want_ to believe that."

"Same thing!"

"No it isn't," He tells her genuinely. "Look, we're not going to end up like your parents, if that's what you're worried about. Or my parents, God forbid. We haven't yet; what makes you think we will in the future?"

She sighs. "I don't know…"

"Think about the tax benefits," Jeff coaxes. "The gifts. The open bar. It could be great…"

"It could be," She hesitates.

"Plus," Jeff adds, the icing on the cake. "Think of how great Grant would look in a mini-tux."

Britta grins. "Alright, fine Winger. I'll marry you. But we're not having a big wedding and the reception can't be in some tacky dining hall. We're not getting married in a church because that would be sacrilegious and if you say you want some band that's only going to play classical music- or worse, _polka_- then we're going to have some problems. None of that bullshit will be tolerated, do you understand me?"

Jeff chuckles and wraps his arm around her. "Ah, my charming wife."

* * *

Only a short two months later, Jeff and Britta marry in a relaxed ceremony in the park, with Grant acting as the cutest little ring bearer they'd ever seen.

Seven months later, their daughter Molly Grace, enters the world (though much slower than her older brother, so not in the middle of the hospital hallway) and they're overjoyed when Grant's first response is to squeal, "Baby!" and give his sister a sloppy kiss.

And if you're wondering whether or not Molly is as much of an insomniac as her brother, wonder no more.

She's ten times worse.


End file.
